The arcenciels’ wings fluttered faster and they began to shimmer all over, as if excited. Or angry. Wrassler drew his weapon, not that it would do him any good. Only cold iron would hurt a rainbow dragon. The dragons twirled in a complicated acrobatic flight pattern, their colors changing to darker hues that seemed to reflect a darker emotion—maybe anger? Huge heads bobbing, they flailedtheir wings, gyrated their bodies in serpentine spirals, and flew out of sight. Gee and the lizard disappeared, like poof, instant gone-ness.
Leo vanished, just as poofy as Gee, but in a vampy way. Wrassler stood there, his weapon still drawn, taking in the front parking area and closed gate of the Mithran Council Chambers. The day grew brighter, grayer. He holstered his gun, trudged up the stairs, shaking his head.
I pulled my cell and found Gee in my contacts. He didn’t answer, so I left a terse voicemail. I texted Soul asking if the leader of the arcenciels knew about the silver box Leo had gifted them, asking what it was, asking if she knew about the flying lizard and why the others got so upset, and asking if she knew her people had tried to steal my crown, claiming it was at her directive. Okay. It was more like a long rant, but calling it a text made it seem better.
Soul didn’t text back, but now that I knew she could grow an arm in her dragon-form, not using her cell phone wasn’t an excuse or the result of an unfortunate shape, it was deliberate. And Leo? I had no idea what was going on with Leo or what he had given the rainbow dragons.
An hour after dawn, my cell rang, displaying Angelina Everhart Trueblood’s number. My goddaughter used to call me on Molly’s line, until her parents gave her a cell and limited access to people she could call. I couldn’t help the way my cat-shaped face softened as I answered, the cell held up tight to my cat ear, to keep others from overhearing. Angie was private godmother business, not queen business. No one’s business but mine. Plus, Angie called with weird news sometimes. “Hey, Angie Baby,” I said softly.
Alex rotated his chair, watching me, his long curls bobbing against his darker-skinned face.
“Hey, Ant Jane,” Angle said. She used to call me Aunt Jane and I had no idea where the Ant thing came from, but it was adorable. “Don’t tell Mama I called. But I saw my angel. He’s close to you. He wants to talk to you.”
I sat straight up in my chair, scanning the room and checking all the screens. No Hayyel. But that might not be what Angie meant. “Close as in location?”
“Close like in time. All the futures say that Mama and I’ll be coming to visit, but I haven’t told Mama yet.” I could almost see the eight-year-old’s eye roll when she added, “Mama gets upset when I know things.”
My breath hitched. Everything in my body clenched. I was glad the vamps were gone because I knew my scent also changed and that would have caused trouble with them. Alex reacted to whatever he saw on my face, his eyes going wide. Voodoo put a hand on his weapon.
I waved them both down and shook my head once, a tiny motion, hoping to tell everyone not to worry just yet. Angie was one of very few double-X-gene witches in the world, meaning that she had gotten the witch gene on the X chromosome from both parents, and therefore double of the usual witch power. Angie Baby had come into her power—way more power than most witches—far too early. She was still a kid and yet she was becoming prescient, seeing potential futures. It worried me, as seeing the future was something like timewalkers could sometimes do. Angie and I hadn’t talked in depth about her time-sense yet, mostly because it scared the bejeebbers out of me to think she might get cancer like I did from messing around with time.
But... I wonderedhowAngie saw potential futures. Was her way safer? Or was it the way I used to, before the cancer and the healing and before I stopped trying to see potentials? If I tried to look at the futures again, I wondered if I could still see possibilities in water drops, and if that would be safe, provided I only looked and never used the gift to slow or alter time.
But, if I could see the possibilities, would I be able restrain myself from messing around in time? Could I resist? Should I resist? There were worse things than dying if I could save the people I loved. I needed to talk to Angie about her futures and how she saw time.
“Ant Jane?”
“I’m here. Why haven’t you told your mama about the trip?”
“Because Cassy was fussy last night. Mama says she might have colic, like a horse. She kept Mama and Daddy up.”
That made sense.
“I’m getting ready to stick waffles in the toaster for me and EJ. We’re gonna eat breakfast out at Mama’s rock garden. And don’t worry. The newhedgeis still up.”
The Everharts were back on their land, in their new house. Their first home had been destroyed by Angie Baby’s emerging magic, the second one had been attacked by one of my enemies and burned to the ground. I had spent personal money to expedite getting their house finished and their stuff (as much as possible) replaced in record time, though I’d not been able to replace Big Evan’s compositions or his one-of-a-kind collection of rare, hand-carved flutes. Or Molly’s houseplants. Being my friend was hard and dangerous, no matter how I looked at it, so I helped where I could. “Okay. You be safe, Angie.”
“Okay, Ant Jane. I love you.”
“I love you too.” I ended the call and looked up to see Bruiser standing in the doorway, his eyes on me, his mouth soft. He was wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and brown casual shoes, his hair styled back, away from his face. He wasn’t wearing black, which made me all kinds of happy. My honeybunch looked nothing like a scion or someone sworn or bound to me. He looked like a guy dressed for a casual date. Maybe dinner. And also he looked like sex on a stick.
“Angie?” he asked, of my phone call.
My face always gave that away. “Yeah. How ’bout you take me away from here, Consort?”
“I can do that. Who’s on duty?” he asked the room.
Six humans stepped forward.
“Three vehicles. To the queen’s personal residence.” Bruiser checked his weapon and replaced it in a spine holster. “Alex, you ride with us.”
“As long as you don’t neck in the car, fine.”
I spluttered with laughter.
***
The trip back through the French Quarter was uneventful, except for seeing all the homeless people on the streets, which was a sad juxtaposition with the city’sThanksgiving decorations everywhere. The homeless slept in doorways, under foliage, the lucky ones in small tents. We passed one guy sleeping with his head on his shoes as a pillow, his winter coat on and buttoned tight, a heavy stick clutched in his fingers. “Make sure the church who was doing all the good work with the homeless gets a donation. If they’re not any further along in negotiations with the city about a location for the permanent individual low-income homes they were talking about, see if a nudge from us and a promise of financial support will help.”
